


home where i wanted to go (is you)

by royaletea



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, that delinquent AU that i've been wanting to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 20:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3869410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royaletea/pseuds/royaletea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Aomine is a punk. Good thing Kagami is there to punch some sense back into him.</p><p>(A story in which two glass-hearted boys pretend to be tougher than they actually are. Delinquent!Aomine x Touou!Kagami)</p>
            </blockquote>





	home where i wanted to go (is you)

A school like Touou is every parent’s dream—big and public, yet ranked at national level in both academics and sports, and basketball in particular—and families flock over to the district like a swarm of bees in hopes of sending their kids there.

Touou administration _likes_ that reputation, and rolls out the red carpet right under star athletes’ feet in order to nab them fresh out of middle school, and Aomine, as far as he is concerned, is like the badass Jupiter of all stars in the solar system—or something.

(Or actually, wasn’t Jupiter a planet. There was some mumbojumbo shit in science class where they learned the sun is actually a star or something that he can’t bothered to remember. But you get the point.)

“You’re extremely lucky to be there,” the adults say. “Why is he here?” some kids say, though not in his face. Fucking cowards, if you asked him.

He doesn’t care what either of them think, because talent is talent and if you have the breath left to argue after a one-on-one match against him in basketball, then he’ll maybe look for a crap to give. (Too bad he ran out of those.)

(Though, admittedly, no one wants to dispute his place among the Generation of Miracles, and he knows it’s not what the kids talk about when he walks up to in front of the green chalkboard to introduce himself.

“Aomine Daiki. I play basketball,” he would say, boredly, arms crossed and sneakers undone, and he can feel eyes on him, on untidy dark blue jeans loose at his hips instead of the standard uniform pants, the tie hanging undone at his neck, and the corner of a cigarette case poking out from his pocket.)

First impressions are important, he vaguely remembers Momoi telling him a long time ago as she stands on her toes to tame the short mess of his hair, and so he makes a point to roll out of bed in his uniform from the night before, all wrinkles and soda stains on his collar, and bam, the perfect look for school.

He strides back to his seat at the very back row with a yawn, bumping into desk corners on his way, and ignores the teacher’s disapproving gaze and the whispers behind his back.

(He’s only here for the basketball, after all. Not the practice, either—he’s here to win Touou a couple of interhigh tournament trophies, and nothing more.)

* * *

It’s cold as shit and he’s sure his snot has frozen in his nose, so he grabs a blazing, red jacket and flings it over his uniform on his way out the door, which is technically against the rules—not that he cares too much, because and why would he freeze himself when he can just break a rule.

(The teacher patrolling the gate—Aomine takes to calling him Mr. Preggo in his head, a fat-bellied guy who probably lived his entire life on a couch drinking beer—in the morning gave him a grief about his tardiness and the flamboyant jacket, and he gave a show of regret with downcast eyes, but put the jacket back on as soon as the teacher disappeared from sight.)

At this time of the year, there should’ve been cherry blossoms spiraling down from the branches in a rain of pink, but the unexpected chill has driven them right back into their buds.  

“Aomine-kun!” Momoi waves at him, and hooks her thin arm around his. “I got you hot chocolate,” she says with a quirk of chapped lips, and pushes the white cup towards him.

Aomine half-glances at the green Starbucks logo, stomach suddenly rumbling as he thinks about the eggs and rice he could’ve had for breakfast but didn’t because Mom didn’t go grocery shopping this week.

“Hmph,” he takes a sip out of the cup, letting the warm liquid drip down his throat.

“Oh, look, there’s a new magic trick club!” Momoi drags him towards a table with a cardboard sign filled with ugly marker scribbles of magician’s hats and damned roses and big-toothed bunnies, what the hell— “Hi, can I have a flyer, please?” she asks one of the boys holding a shapeable balloon, stubbornly holding onto Aomine’s arm.

Aomine wrinkles his nose. He should’ve ditched Satsuki as soon as he saw her.

(He manages to shake her off midway, though, when she’s distracted with the boy’s cheap rose trick, and hightails the hell out of there.

“Yeah, no,” he mutters to himself with a shrug, and strides toward the east wing—where the basketball team’s tables are supposed to be, according to the map at the entrance—without her.)

The table isn’t so hard to spot—it’s actually fucking obvious, because basketball is the only club to have five tables to themselves and there’s a long line of short brats at the front where the sign up sheets were being handed out.

Aomine snorts and boldly cuts in near the front of the line, ignoring the “hey!” from behind him and snatching the sign up sheet.

(Which is pretty pointless, because he was accepted to Touou _on the condition_ that he plays basketball for them, so why the hell should he bother pretending he’s one of the brats lined up for a tryout flyer—)

“Just to let you know,” a blond dude with faint, barely visible brows approaches, as Aomine props the sign up sheet against his thigh and scribbles his name with a pencil. “The tryouts are next week on Thursday, at 3:30 pm, in the east gym.”

Aomine barks into laughter at that. “Yeah, yeah.”

The blond guy raises his brow, and Aomine shrugs, not caring about the way he’s suspiciously eyeing his ear piercing and the flaming red parka—

“Don’t be rude, Aomine-kun.” Momoi suddenly appears next to him, nearly making him jump out of his skin, and politely asks for a sign-up sheet as well, for a manager position.

Aomine quickly scribbles the rest of his information—his age, his height, which school he came from—and throws it at the blond dude’s face, scurrying away from the crowded tables before Momoi can catch him and drag him around for club shopping.

(He thinks he hears a faint growl from the guy, before he peels the paper from his face and squints to make out the chicken scratch—

“Wait, _Teikou_?!”)

* * *

 

The press of the basketball feels comfortable against his hands, and Aomine lets it bounce a few times against the empty open court before going straight for a dunk in the goal post on the right end.

He hangs uselessly from the rim of the basket, hearing the ball screech against the shining floor, and sighs. Class ended half an hour ago, and the gym is completely empty.

Jumping back down to the floor, Aomine flutters his eyes close, and imagines the crowd behind the stand, roaring his name and his school, and the exhausted, despairing faces of his opponents as they breathe in and out, worn to their bones as they try to keep up with him—

He never was much of a showman anyway. He plays because he wants to, and he wins because he wants to. That’s all.

He glances at the clock on the wall, reading 3:33—and should head back home, but.

(Home is such a disgusting place.)

He pulls out his cellphone from his jean pocket, scrolling through his contacts, but in the back of his mind, he knows he doesn’t really have anyone to call but Momoi.

_hey, let’s hit up maji. ~Aomine_

He rubs his temple and puts his phone back into his pocket, and goes back to another round of dribbling.

* * *

Maji Burger is a long, boring twenty minute walk away from Touou—he really should’ve picked somewhere closer—by the time Aomine gets there, he’s gross as hell, sweat and all, and has stuffed the red parka into his backpack—which was empty, anyway, because who needs textbooks.

Momoi is waiting for him in front of the glass automatic door, and he raises a brow, wondering why the hell she’s loitering around and not going in. Her eyes widen a tad when she finds him, as she hooks her arm around his, dragging him away from the restaurant—

“Ah, Aomine-kun, I found a Subway right around the block. Let’s go there instead,” she says, glancing briefly into the restaurant, and then away, and Aomine narrows his eyes.

“Ha?”

Momoi shakes her head, and pulls at his arm. “Let’s just go,”

“No way,” Aomine pulls back, and pushes toward the door, letting the automatic door slide open. “I just came all the way here, just for that damned Maji Burger Special Combo set. I’m not leaving without one.”

And the he steps inside, ignoring the whiny “ _Aomine-kun!_ ” behind him, and walks straight up to the counter to order. No line, hell yes.

As he waits for his order, he scans the tables for an empty one, eyes landing on a crowded table in the corner, filled with students in dark gakuran with blue highlights. Aomine squints, wondering where he’s seen that uniform before, when the cashier clears her throat and pushes his plate towards him— _here’s your order, sir_ —and he grabs the plate, twisting around—

—and runs straight into a smaller frame with light blue hair, dropping his plate.

The fries fly everywhere, and Aomine’s eyes widen in despair as he leaps, pushing the figure aside to catch his burger—

And then he finally connects dots, the wide blue eyes and the tousled light blue hair blending into a familiar face, a face from a long time ago.

“Tetsu—” Aomine blurts out, and Kuroko doesn’t move, frozen for the briefest moment before the thin line between his mouth quirks _down_ , as he turns the other way without so much a hello.

Aomine stands there awkwardly with a half-dismembered burger as Kuroko joins the crowded table with the black gakuran kids— _Seirin_ , that was Seirin uniform—and daintily sips on his shake, not even once looking at Aomine’s way.

Aomine scowls, and yanks at a chair, letting the legs drag noisily against the floor, at an empty table far from the Seirin table,

Momoi quietly enters the restaurant, too, and Aomine scowls some more as Kuroko and Momoi exchange greetings before she settles at the table across from him, using a napkin to wipe at the spot of ketchup on the surface.

Fine, give him the cold shoulder.

Watch all the craps he give, all seven rainbow colors of them.

Aomine looks down at the sad excuse of the burger, and tosses it into the trashcan, and reaches for the box of cigarettes in his pocket, ignoring the way Momoi’s face scrunches up in disapproval. He bites the tip of the cigarette and lights it up with practiced ease, letting out a long puff of smoke.

(He misses the way Kuroko, from the other side of the restaurant, clenches his hands around the shake.)

“Excuse me,” a girl in the Maji uniform approaches him, “we don’t allow smoking inside. Please step outside if you’d like to smoke.”

Aomine growls, biting into his lips.

“Fine.”

He stands up, pushing the table back by an inch, and exits the restaurant, Momoi tailing after him.

* * *

Home is another twenty minute walk into the other direction, a small house nestled between a cafe and a convenient store.

Aomine’s head is filled with white noise and heavy knots as he digs into his pocket for his keys.

“I’m home,” he says as he kicks his shoes off, blinking as he realizes that the lights are still off, and the house is pitch dark. There’s a muted sound of television playing from his dad’s room, and the bitter stench of alcohol everywhere.

Yellow light spills into the hallway as a thick, intoxicated voice mumbles through the crack—“Did my son have a good day at school today?”

Aomine turns on the switch in the living room with the sigh.

“Yeah, well, I’m just here to change and I’m going out,” he says, flatly, and skitters to his room, biting his lips as he glancing away from his dad’s shadow in the dimly lit hallway. He clicks the door shut and changes into a hood as fast as he can, throwing his uniform on the floor, and accidentally hits his Interhigh first place trophy from Teikou on the drawers with his elbow.  

“Fuck,” he swears, narrowly catching it before it crashes into smithereens, and places it back on its drawers.

(It’s the only thing that landed him in Touou, and the last thing he ever shared with the Generation of Miracles.)

Aomine ties his shoelaces, cringing at the empty silence ringing loudly against his ears, and lets the door slam behind him as he leaves.

Out, out. He _needs_ to get out of here.

He wanders into a PC room, and settles at a computer near the stained wall for the night, shooting down aliens with his virtual gun. It’s not as exciting as—say, basketball—but it’s a good enough way to pass time and zone out at the same time. (Dinner is at 9, when he can’t take his stomach growling anymore, and he gobbles down a cup noodle and a piece of beef jerky he buys at the PC room counter.)

He quietly roams back to his house around 5:00 am, quietly clicking the door open, and collapses on his twin bed with a flimsy basketball-patterned bedsheet draped over it. He closes his eyes and lets the white noise in his mind consume him into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

First period on a Tuesday is world history, one of the greatest subjects Aomine has ever taken, because the textbook is thick enough to cushion his neck comfortably while he sleeps.

(It’s the only class he’s bought the textbook for, because it’s just so darn comfy.)

Before he bought the book—Rise of the Modern World, with the picture of a dude with thick brows and shoulder-length sissy hair against a black background—he used to prop his arm against his cheek, but he quickly realized he can’t actually support himself like that when he’s dozing off, so,

Now, he presses his right cheek against the open textbook and lets the drone of the lecture lull him to sleep.

(He’s just so tired all the time lately. Staying out late is nothing unusual, but it’s just no fun—not on a school day. It’s become a habit, lately, this staying out late thing, and not always by choice—

The tree branches out the window blurs into a blob of gray before turning completely black.

* * *

Aomine blinks.

He’s in a house with no lights, and surrounded by the smell of alcohol all around him. There’s a faint sob coming from the ceiling—if there _is_ a ceiling, he can’t be sure—and then suddenly, a phone rings, over and over, getting louder every time. Aomine crouches and blocks his ears, because that phone is so loud his ear drums are going to burst—he needs to pick it up and make that thing _shut up_ —

There’s a beep, and the ringing stops, and then all he hears is a heavy, watery breathing.

“Please come back,” a man’s voice says, and it’s so ugly Aomine can’t stand it. “Daiki misses you so much.”

Aomine’s pulse races as his breathing speeds up, because he recognizes that voice and that line and he can’t stand it because it’s so ugly and _weak_ and fucking maddening—

And suddenly, light streams into his face, illuminating the room around him, and he’s running in a court, with a basketball bouncing against his left hand.

He sees the familiar back of light blue hair in the corner of his eye, and he passes the ball to the shadow out of instinct.

The silhouette doesn’t turn around, though, and the ball bounces uselessly on the court floor—thump, thump thump—before rolling to a stop.

A burst of anger runs down his spine, and Aomine rushes up to Kuroko, grabbing him by his shoulders and spinning him around—

And Kuroko suddenly turns around, face pale and sheened in sweat, eyes wide in terror.

“Aomine-kun—”  

Startled, Aomine takes a step back, mouth dry as sandpaper, and there’s a deafening silence except for their frantic, uneven breathing as he stares at his own hand, calloused and dark, and fucking _dangerous_ —

“What did you do, Daiki?” Aomine freezes when a smooth, tenor voice punctures the silence, and Aomine twists around to see a flash of red hair. He opens his mouth, and closes it, and then opens it again but no sound comes out.

“What did you do?” And then it’s a flash of green, a yellow, a purple, a fucking rainbow and then the entire Generation of Miracles is circled around him, crowding him—” _Did you, Aominecchi? Did you?_ ”—staring him down and where is Kuroko, he can’t think, he can’t breathe—

Aomine runs.

* * *

A piece of chalk hits him in his skull, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, blinking and breathing heavy and uneven, forehead laden with sweat—

“ _Aomine-san_ ,” the teacher’s voice booms, and there’s a quiet giggling around him. “Go out and run a lap around the school grounds. Please don’t come back until you’re awake and ready for this class.”

Aomine breathes a faint yes, sensei, pulse still racing, and slips out of the classroom, almost tripping on a backpack hung on the side of the desk.

* * *

The air outside is much warmer, suffocatingly so, smelling of sickeningly sweet flowers in the blazing sun, and Aomine closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

What a fucked up dream.

He kicks a pebble with the nose of his beat-up sneakers, and circles past the west wing, massaging the back of his neck with firm press of his fingers.

His head hurts, like a giant raging truck is trying to run over his brain and squeeze it into a crumbled mess.

Aomine slows down to a stop under a tree, a cool, dry shade, and sits down at the worn down wooden bench at the front. Grimacing, he pulls out a bent cigarette from his pocket, and puts it between his lips, craning his neck to light it up.

The bitter smell calms his frayed nerves better than anything else—maybe except for booze, but that takes too long to get into his system—and he breathes, slow and deep, eyes fixed on the trail of smoke escaping his mouth and disappearing midair.

* * *

Kuroko used to hate it, when he first took up smoking back in Teikou.

He would wrinkle his nose in distaste, boldly snatching the cigarette right out of Aomine’s mouth and throwing it into the ground.

“That’s littering,” Aomine said, raising a brow, pointing at the trees around them, at the children playing in the water fountain— _Teikou Park Fountain_ , the stone sign would say—and Kuroko glared, plucking out the lighter from Aomine’s hands as well, as he spat out— _that’s not the point, is it._

Aomine shrugged, and put his hands in his hoodie pocket, because he did have an entire packet of cigarettes—but nah, better not get Tetsu actually _mad_ at him.

“Aomine-kun—” Kuroko would start, in _that_ tone of voice, and Aomine rubbed his temple with an annoyed noise, because this was the last thing he wanted to talk about with Kuroko.

“Yeah, yeah, it destroys my lungs or whatever. I told you, I don’t care.” Aomine rolled his eyes, swinging his feet to and fro and letting the back of his shoes thump lightly against the purple dinosaur-shaped bench.   

Kuroko gave him a long, blank stare. “I’m just worried about you, Aomine-kun,” he sighed, long and tired, and daintily chomped down on his half-eaten burger, peeling at the orange wrap between his thumb and index finger, and really, _not this again._  

“I’ve known you for a while and you’re changing so much right before my eyes, and I can’t stop it.” Kuroko said with a downturn of lips, glancing up at him with that sad, sad, look in his blue eyes that Aomine _hated_.

“Yeah well,” Aomine shrugged. “People change.”

Kuroko bit his lips, and glanced down.

* * *

“Hey, you can’t smoke out here!” A voice interrupts Aomine out of his reverie, and he feels dread twist in a knot in his stomach as he turns around to see a teacher dressed in a chestnut blouse and a pencil skirt approaching him with a steady click of heels.

_Aw, shucks._

The teacher’s eyes widen when her eyes land on Aomine’s Touou uniform hidden under the flaming red parka. “Wait a minute, you’re a _student_ —” Aomine cringes internally when her temple wrinkles into a stormy expression, scanning him from head to toes with those sharp eyes.

“Principal’s office. Now.”

Dun dun _dun_.

* * *

In hindsight, it was probably a stupid idea to smoke at school grounds in broad daylight.

“—attire is utterly _unacceptable_ —”

And it just so happens that he got caught by the head of third year students, no less, who has a lot of administrative power, and so the delivery his punishment is quick and painful, without going through ladder of bureaucratic crap.

“—can’t waltz in here and smoke and think you can get away with it because you were scouted for bouncing a ball around—”

Aomine scratches the back of his neck, half-listening to the teacher’s rant and counting the number of wood tiles on the floor, legs hanging loose from the chair. Thirteen—fourteen—fifteen—

He jumps from his seat when the teacher suddenly slams her manila folder onto the desk, pushing up her dark-rimmed glasses with her index finger, and says, emphatically—”You need to earn your place. Detention for three weeks.”

And then a dramatic pause.

Aomine blinks. Huh, that’s not so bad, everything considered.  

“—And you’re suspended from all extracurricular activities, _including_ the basketball club, for six weeks.”

Damn, he spoke too soon.

* * *

She must be kidding, but she’s not kidding. In fact, she’s so not kidding that she’s dialing the basketball coach at this very moment, with her stern downturned set of lips and hands on her hips as she explains—”I’m afraid Aomine Daiki will not be joining basketball team until next month. All his extracurricular activities have been suspended, as he needs to attend detention for his conduct problems—”

(There’s a brush of Akashi’s hand on his shoulders, and then the coach’s whistle ringing loud against his ears as someone in the back whispers—”Did he just—”)

The walls scream in off-kiltered white as Aomine clenches his fist, biting down on his lips turned white and chapped, and he goes through in his head of all the possible ways of how this could have happened (again).

Shit, shit, _shit_.  

Okay, so maybe it was a shit idea to smoke in school grounds during class time, but. He didn’t think she’d go so far as actually suspend him, because he’s the fucking Aomine Daiki—they practically rolled out red carpets for him under his feet with fucking roses and daisies—they can’t just roll it back up and leave him like this. They need him more than he needs them.

Or so he thought.

(And there’s Kuroko, with face sheened in white and eyes wide open, visibly shaken, as Aomine slowly pulls back—)

“There. Now get out of my office.” The teacher slams the phone back down, and points at the door. Aomine stumbles off his chair, brushing his short hair out of his face as he tries to gather his thoughts.

“And get that tie straightened, for god’s sake,” the teacher adds, and Aomine lets the door slam behind him.

Booze sounds fucking _excellent_ at this point.

-

“What do you mean you got yourself suspended from the basketball club?” Momoi cries, and Aomine winces, holding his phone a good foot away from his ear—god, trust Momoi to make a fuss out of nothing—

“Kind of self-explanatory, I think,” Aomine grumbles under his breath, and digs his pinky into his left ear with a yawn, stretching his legs on the chair. “So yeah. I won’t be coming to the practice this afternoon.”

Not that he planned to show up anyway. Now he just has an excuse.

Momoi whines even louder into his ear. “But there was someone really _good_ at the tryouts. Really good. He wants to meet you and I think you guys will hit it off very nicely, in basketball—”

And Aomine feels a raging headache coming his way again, and rubs his hand all over his face with a groan. “Look, I really, really don’t care. Just—” Aomine pauses, because he can hear footsteps outside, heels clicking—

”—all-right, gotta go.”

And he clicks the call close, letting the beep drown out the whine coming from the other end. He sits up straighter in the chair, fiddling with the tie for the tenth time and failing, and you know what, fuck it.

Who cares.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kagami will be making an appearance in the next chapter wooo~!! I hope you enjoyed :3c


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